A Hunting We Will Go
by el spirito
Summary: Sequel to "Not Now" but can stand alone-- Sam and Dean take on a new hunt in Montana, but of course not everything goes as planned.Hurt!Dean and Hurt!Sam Rating for language and to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The Winchesters still don't belong to me. Crap.

Dean could almost see Sam roll his eyes.

"You've just had a splenectomy, for cyring out loud! Just take it easy, Dean." Three days since he'd woken up, and though he didn't want to admit it, he was nowhere close to being up to his full strength. He flashed Sam with one of his smiles.

"Come on, Sammy, it was just my spleen. Not like it does anything anyway." This time there was a definite eyeroll.

"That's your appendix, Dean! Your spleen helps with your immune system, so, yeah, it does something. Just relax!" Dean looked at him and tried to exude strength and confidence. He could tell by Sam's face that he was failing.

"Sam, come on," he whined, knowing that he sounded like a little kid and not caring. Damn, he was getting tired again.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice low, and Dean was getting _really_ tired. "You can barely keep your eyes open. You are not, I repeat, _not_ getting out of that bed." Dean nodded.

"I know," he mumbled, glaring at his huge brother. The lights were too damn bright all of a sudden, and his eyelids slipped shut of their own accord. He could hear Sam getting settled into the chair next to the bed and felt a pang of guilt that his brother was sleeping so uncomfortably for him. He felt another pang, this one of pain, as he tried to shift positions. Sleep was finally starting to overcome him for good when he heard, distantly, the door open and Sam move at his side. He couldn't really tell what was going on, but Sam was mad, keeping his voice to a rather loud whisper. Dean wanted to tell him to calm down, but he was so tired…The door closed again and Sam resumed his place at Dean's side.

"Happened?" Dean slurred, struggling to open his eyes. Sam was sitting there, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He didn't answer. "S'my?"

"That was the police," Sam answered quietly, and Dean could hear the weariness in his voice. He opened his eyes fully now, looked at his brother. He looked worn down, bags under his bloodshot eyes, and Dean felt terrible.

"They want?" He mumbled, and Sam looked at him.

"They're investigating your stabbing," he answered. Dean stared at him. "They don't really suspect you of anything, but if they dig around…" Dean nodded.

"Gotta go," he said simply, and Sam looked at him.

"Damnit Dean, I'm sorry," he muttered, letting a hand rest briefly on Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't try to shrug him off. "We'll have to get out of here, but hopefully I can hold them off for another day or two." Dean shook his head.

"Tomorrow," he said as firmly as he could. Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"I'll see what I can do, okay?" Dean nodded, content, and slowly fell back asleep.

_When did things get so messed up?_ Sam thought, watching his brother sleep in the bed next to him. He was expecting Bobby back anytime, not wanting to tell the older man what they were going to do-what they had to do. It was a huge risk, Sam knew that, had done the research. He knew how critical it was that Dean receive antibiotics against infection due to the removal of his spleen, but he didn't see any way to avoid signing out AMA. He had barely held off the police today, was actually really relieved that Dean had fallen asleep when he had.

"Hey Sam," Bobby said, entering the room and holding out a cup of steaming hot coffee. Sam took it gratefully. "How's he doing?"

"He stayed awake longer," Sam answered, sipping at the coffee. "But the police are starting to snoop around." Bobby nodded, looking at the floor in obvious thought.

"So you boys are planning on getting' out of here, then," Bobby said, not a question but a statement. _He knows us so well_. Sam nodded.

"I'm worried about it though," Sam admitted quietly. "Dean's still got a little ways to go, and the risk of infection is way higher since the splenectomy. Staying in a motel room…" He trailed off. He couldn't imagine dragging his weakened and vulnerable brother into a filthy, who-knew-what-had-happened-in-there motel room.

"You boys can come stay with me again," Bobby said quickly. Sam turned to look at him. He was quiet for a minute before nodding.

"Thanks, Bobby," he muttered, not trusting his voice not to crack. It had been such a long few days and he was bone-tired and Bobby felt like the closest thing to a father he had and Dean needed to recover…

"Relax, Sam," Bobby's voice said, low and soothing, and Sam nodded, letting the weariness that had threatened to overwhelm him do just that. He fell asleep to Bobby's soft reassurance that everything would be okay.

Dean was nodding off again, head resting briefly on his chest before jerking up as bleary eyes peered out the windshield.

"Dean, it's okay. You can sleep," Sam said, turning to look at him briefly before looking at the road again. Dean didn't reply, just slid down in the seat a bit more with a grimace, trying to find a comfortable place to put his head. He was lightly snoring within what seemed like seconds. Sam sighed and kept driving. He wasn't used to the complete silence that now engulfed him, and he didn't like it. Listening to music was out of the question; unfortunately, so was doing something to Dean. Like sticking a spoon in his mouth.

Sam's mind was wandering over what the hell he was going to do about Dean when tbe object of his ponderings stirred in the seat next to him.

"Hey Dean, you awake?" Sam asked, risking a glance at his older brother. Dean mumbled something incomprehensible and Sam smiled.

"Good. We're just about to Bobby's," he announced, and Dean nodded, hoisted himself up straighter in the sear, winced.

"How long you think we'll be down?" He asked quietly, rubbing at one of his eyes. He looked like a four-year old. Sam suppressed a laugh.

"I dunno, Dean, kind of depends on you," Sam answered. "Hopefully a week or two and you'll be at least functional again." Dean swore under his breath.

"That's a long time, Sam," he muttered.

"Not really, Dean, considering what you just went through. Come on, it'll be okay." Dean didn't look convinced, just stared out the window. Sam sighed. It was going to be a _long_ few weeks.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to Bobby's house, the familiar heap of junk looking more inviting than ever. Sam hopped out quickly and jogged around to Dean's side, opening the door. Dean glared at him until Sam stepped back, hands up in surrender, going to the back and hefting both duffles. When he walked back, Dean was still trying to get out of the car, sweat on his forehead and looking a bit pasty. Sam kept walking, though he wanted more than anything to help Dean. Still, he knew better than to push his stubborn-ass brother when he didn't want to be pushed. He could sense Bobby watching him as he came through the door, and they shook their heads as they shared an exasperated look. It took another couple of minutes for Dean to stumble in through the door, refusing to make eye contact with either of the other hunters. He made it to the couch and collapsed onto it, breaths shuddery with exertion.

"That brother of yours is gonna kill himself one of these times," Bobby muttered, and Sam nodded, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, Bobby. I worry about him," Sam replied quietly.

"I can hear you," Dean moaned from the couch, and Sam laughed.

"Maybe you should listen!" He yelled, and Dean gave him the finger before covering his head with a pillow. Sam turned back to Bobby. "It's gonna be a hell of a few weeks," he muttered, and Bobby laughed.

"Yeah, I'm plannin' on getting' out of here for awhile," he said. "You know where you can sleep. Make yourself at home." He waved a hand around the small house, and Sam smiled, feeling at peace for the first time in a long time. He didn't realize how shortlived that peace would be.

"Sam! There is absolutely nothing on daytime TV!" Dean yelled, throwing the remote at the ancient television in disgust. Sam looked up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, I know Dean. You said the same thing yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that," he answered, and Dean glared at him.

"Sam, I really feel a hell of a lot better now," he said, his voice nearly a whine. "So don't you think it would be a good idea to go, you know, hunt some bad guys or something? Please?"

"Dean, you really should stay down for a few more days, okay? Just relax, I'm doing some research now. I think we might have a case, and when I'm absolutely certain you're 100%, we'll go. Got it?" Sam said it firmly, knowing that Dean was going to hate it but absolutely not changing his mind. "Besides, you've still got a few more rounds of antibiotics to go." Sam had managed to get ahold of some of the medications prescribed for Dean, but he knew that it wasn't as much as he should've had, and there was no way in hell he was going to let his brother on a hunt without finishing the meager medications he did have.

"Bitch," Dean mumbled, glaring at Sam again.

"Jerk," Sam replied automatically. "Shut up and get some rest."

A few days later, Dean would not take no for an answer. He was up and walking around, albeit a bit slower than usual, practically wearing holes in the floor as he paced. He looked up as Sam walked into the room, toweling his wet hair, almost following him like an eager puppy.

"Today, right? We're going today," Dean said, looking at Sam expectantly. Sam shrugged, and Dean frowned at him. "No. Sam, we are leaving today. Your days of tyranny are over."

"Days of tyranny? Dean, I was making sure you were okay," Sam protested, and Dean shook his head.

"You wouldn't let me do anything!" Dean cried, and Sam gave him an exasperated look.

"Dean, all you wanted to do was play pool, pick up babes, and drink."

"And?" Dean answered, arms spread in confusion. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Not exactly good things for someone who just had emergency surgery, Dean!" He yelled, and Dean shrugged.

"I don't see a problem with them. Anyway, you found a hunt, right? Tell me you found a hunt." Sam gave his brother a long look. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Dean was completely better yet, but he figured that it was close enough, and if Dean had to stay home too much longer…Well, then Sam would probably be the one to kill him.

"Yeah, I got a hunt," Sam answered. "It's in Montana. A lot of campers have been disappearing up around Flathead National Forest, I think it might be a Wendigo or a Hidebehind? They've found some pretty…messed up bodies. Nine in the past month and a half." Dean grinned.

"Sounds like our kind of monster."

"Sounds like."

A/N: So sorry it wasn't too eventful, hopefully more action soon!


	2. Chapter 2

"He has turned to steel, in the great magnetic field!

When he traveled time for the future of mankind.

Nobody wants him. He just stares at the world.

Planning his vengeance that he will soon unfurl!"

Dean cranked the music up even louder, and Sam groaned. He had heard Dean sing "Ironman" at least six times during their drive, complete with grunting the guitar intro and a squealing guitar solo.

"Come on Sammy!" Dean cried as he yelled "Now the time is hear for ironman to spread fear."

"Dean, I already sang it about a billion times," Sam muttered, realizing that he probably sounded pouty but not really caring.

"Aww, Sammy, can't handle Black Sabbath?" Dean taunted, and Sam looked out the window, pointedly ignoring his brother. "Pansy." Sam turned to look at Dean.

"Really? Really, Dean? Throwing down insults now? You're so juvenile!" Dean's snicker turned into full on laughter at Sam's indignation. Sam glared at him and, reaching over, turned off the radio. Dean's laughter stopped abruptly and so did the car. Sam flew forward, nearly smashing his head on the dashboard as the Impala's breaks squealed. Dean turned to look at his brother, fire burning in his eyes.

"No one, NO ONE, turns off my radio and lives!" Dean yelled, and, launching himself at Sam gave his little brother a very effective wet willy.

"No, Dean, NO!" Sam screamed, trying to contain his laughter even as he cringed away, horrified at the feeling of his brother's wet finger in his ear.

"Oh yes, Sam," Dean answered evilly, and abruptly switched tactics, reaching for Sam's chest.

"Dean, you are not giving me a purple nurple!" Sam screamed, wriggling onto his stomach as Dean reached for him. Both boys collapsed into a heap of laughter, Dean wiping at his streaming eyes. Sam couldn't remember the last time they'd just wrestled and was surprised at how good it felt to just be normal brothers for a little while. That is, if they were ever "normal brothers." Sam's musings were cut short when Dean's laughter disintegrated into a coughing fit. Sam looked at him warily and Dean held up a hand.

"Don't say it," he muttered between coughs, and Sam sighed. He knew that Dean was way more susceptible to infections like pneumonia.

"Dean," he started in a low voice, but Dean shook his head.

"I'm serious Sam. Just a cough." They took a moment, studied each other. The silence was broken when Dean spoke up. "I'm also serious that if you touch my radio again, it'll be the last thing you ever do." Sam smiled a bit, but the moment was over, and they both slid to their respective seats.

"Dean, if you're sick, you really do need to get it checked out," Sam said, and Dean didn't look at him, just kept looking at the road.

"I know Sam. I really do. It's just a cough," Dean answered, and Sam was surprised by the sincerity of his brother's tone. "I'll be the first to let you know if it's something I can't handle anymore." Sam was oddly comforted by that, even though he knew that Dean's 'something he couldn't handle' was significantly worse than most people's.

"Promise?" Sam asked quietly, staring intently at his brother.

"Yeah."

When they finally drove into Bigfork, Montana, two hours later, both boys were wiped out, Dean especially showing the length of their day all over his face. Sam took careful note of the bags under his eyes and the more pale cast to his skin. He quickly got out and got a room, making sure that it was one close to a parking spot so that the trek to the car would be minimal. It proved to be a wise decision as Dean stubbornly refused to let his younger brother take his bag in and ended up staggering through the door, barely keeping upright.

"Tomorrow we'll go talk to the local police, yeah?" Dean asked from his prone position on the bed. Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I figure they'll probably have pictures of something of the bodies, we can figure out where it's been happening for the most part, and then that night or the next day we can head in." Dean raised his arm and gave Sam a thumbs up, then let his arm drop heavily onto the bed. "You should get some rest so you'll be ready."

"Gee, ya think?" Dean muttered dryly, voice already becoming slurred as he drifted to sleep. Sam looked at him and shook his head.

"Are you going to sleep in your clothes?" Sam asked, eyebrow raised.

"Unless you want to take them off," Dean answered, then added, "Scratch that. You might actually do it. Yes. I am sleeping in my clothes." Sam shrugged and got ready for bed. By the time he'd finished brushing his teeth, he could hear Dean snoring.

SPNSPNSPN

The next morning, Dean was still looking too pale for Sam's liking, and he was coughing more regularly. Sam was worried, but he also didn't want to infringe on his brother when they'd reached a tentative agreement the day before.

"Sam? What do Forest Service guys wear?" Dean called, and Sam inwardly cursed.

"I don't actually know, Dean, let's just go with suits and hope that's okay," he answered. Dean nodded and pulled the bathroom door shut, coughing loudly.

Half an hour later, the brothers walked into the police station in suits, both trying to look confident.

"What are you boys here about?" A gruff looking man asked when they approached the front desk.

"We're with the Forest Service," Sam answered. "This is Deputy Young and I'm Deputy Johnson. We're here about the disappearances you've been having lately. I understand you think it might be some kind of animal…?" The man looked at them suspiciously.

"Don't look like no Forest Service rangers I've ever seen," he said, running a hand over his stubbly chin. Dean flashed him a smile and stifled a cough.

"Yeah, we're a bit classier than your run of the mill ranger," he said, and the man only narrowed his eyes further. Sam gave Dean a sideways glance and Dean shut up.

"Well, I'll let the sheriff talk to you," the man muttered, waving a hand to have them follow. They entered a small office where a short man with a large beard sat behind a huge desk loaded with paperwork and sat down in two hard wooden chairs.

"Sheriff McAllister, these boys aim to talk to you about them disappearin' campers we've had of late," he announced, and the sheriff looked up in surprise.

"Where you boys from?" He asked.

"Forest Service," Sam replied, and Dean tried and failed to give a reassuring look as he coughed.

"Well then, I expect you'll be wantin' to see the pictures we took of them bodies," the sheriff said, looking hard at Dean. "You're Forest Service?" Sam nodded as Dean coughed, and the sheriff didn't seem convinced.

"Sir, even the forest rangers can get a cold," Dean said by way of explaining his cough, and McAllister shrugged.

"Guess you're right, son. If you all will come with me, I'll show you the pictures," he said, and stood up. When the boys stood up, Sam noticed with a pang of anxiety how the movement made Dean lose even more color, and he swayed ominously. Sam put an arm out to steady him and was shoved off.

"'M okay," Dean muttered, though he clearly wasn't. The sheriff had already walked ahead and didn't notice Dean's faltering, so the boys were able to quickly catch up with him. He led them down an ancient, rundown hallway to a room full of old filing cabinets. McAllister seemed to know exactly where to go and quickly retrieved a folder.

"Here they are," he said, spreading them out for the brothers to inspect. Sam frowned as he looked at them, glancing at Dean to see if his brother thought the same thing, alarmed when Dean made no indication of suspecting anything. The marks on the bodies were not at all consistent with a Wendigo; Sam didn't know what they were consistent with. There appeared to be slashes all over the bodies, but they weren't consistent enough to be claw marks. Dean didn't seem to think anything was wrong, and Sam wondered if he was feeling okay.

"What do you think?" McAllister asked, looking at them expectantly. Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged.

"I'm not entirely sure," he answered, and Dean nodded in agreement. "We'll have to go see if we can find tracks of some sort." As they walked out, Dean whispered to Sam, "Wendigo?"

"Um, not sure," Sam answered. He could tell that Dean wasn't fully aware or he would've seen the same things Sam noticed, and looking closely at his brother's face, he could see the slight flush of his cheeks and slight glaze of his eyes. He was running a damn fever.

"Well, we'll figure it out," Dean said confidently before coughing again. Sam nodded absently, coming to a decision. Dean was sitting this one out, whether he wanted to or not.

_Dean's going to hate me!_Sam thought to himself, but he knew that his brother's health was worth it. As they climbed into the Impala and Dean started singing along with "Back in Black," Sam knew that he was going to act that night. Alone.

A/N: Song is Ironman by Black Sabbath; more action next time!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews!

_Hey Dean. So, I'm going after the Wendigo by myself_ Sam shook his head, unsure how to continue. How about something like, _So I know that I did this a few weeks ago and you almost died and I'm a bastard_ or _Hope you don't hate me too much, but you're sick and I'm abandoning you so that you don't get hurt. It's for your own good, really._ Sam gave a low growl of frustration then glanced quickly over to make sure he hadn't disturbed his sleeping brother. Sam's suspicions about Dean's temperature had been confirmed when Dean had fallen into a restless sleep and Sam had managed to touch his forehead. It had been enough to convince Sam that his brother was ill, and though Sam hated to leave him when he would probably need help and so soon after their last disastrous separation, he was not going to let his brother get himself killed. So with a sigh, Sam scribbled out a note that he knew sounded stupid, shouldered his backpack, and snuck out of the motel room.

It was dark out, and there was no way that Sam was going to steal the Impala along with everything else he was putting Dean through. It wasn't hard to hot-wire one of the cars in the parking lot, though he felt guilty as hell doing it, and then he was driving to the edge of the forest. It was a beautiful forest, but it was ominous and foreboding, and Sam suddenly realized just how unprepared he was. This had definitely not been one of his better choices. He stopped the car in a small parking lot that was apparently for hikers, and slung his backpack over his shoulders. Noting that there weren't any other cars in the lot, he grabbed a flashlight and quickly found the trail that led to the campsite, which he knew from a map was a good few miles in. He didn't think that whatever it was he was hunting would attack too close to the road, but he wasn't sure that it wouldn't attack somewhere along the winding trail, so he was extra wary as he crept through the trees.

It was a long walk, and Sam realized that he was starting to let his guard down when a deer crashed out of the bushes around him and scared the crap out of him. As he got his breathing to slow down, he rubbed at his eyes, mentally kicking himself for getting so off his game. He finally made it to the campsite and sat down heavily on an old wooden picnic table, fingering his gun as he thought. He didn't really want to camp, wanted to get this job over with as soon as possible, but he should probably get some rest…He decided against getting rest and took to sweeping over the site with his flashlight, looking for something that might help him. It wasn't long before he spotted a few drops of blood, and for a second had a terrible flashback to finding spots of blood that were his brother's. Sam shook his head and went back to inspecting the ground, surprised to realize that it appeared as if someone had been dragged away. Glancing around, he decided quickly to follow the trail, making sure to mark trees as he passed them, swiping them twice with his knife.

It was a fairly easy trail to follow, the smashed undergrowth and blood spatters easy to spot. Still, Sam was glad when the sky started to lighten up a bit, though it was cloudy and overcast. The trail was a winding one, and he didn't really have any idea where he was in relation to the campsite, was suddenly relieved that he had marked where he was going. Sam stopped for a moment, wiped at his eyes tiredly, straightened up and started forward again. He frowned as a raindrop splashed onto his face; in what seemed like seconds, rain was pouring down around him, and, he realized with a frown, wiping away his trail. Quickly, he started following the blood spatter, hoping that he could find where it led before it was completely gone, swinging his flashlight to his right and left as he crashed through the bushes.

"Damn it!" Sam cried when he could no longer find any signs to follow. He was starting to get frantic, _since when do Winchesters panic?_, and he forced himself to take low, deep breaths. He was okay. He just needed to figure out where the Wendigo was and then kill it and then find his way back. Piece of cake. He walked forward further, swiping angrily at tree branches that hung in his way, when he was suddenly surprised to see a cabin, ramshackle and worn down, sitting in a small clearing.

"What the hell?" Sam muttered, knowing as he said it that it was where he wanted to be. He drew his gun and crept forward.

"What the hell indeed," a voice said behind him, and Sam felt a blinding pain in the back of his head then nothing more.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean Winchester was pissed off. More than pissed off. He looked at the note Sam had left him and crumpled it into a ball, throwing it at the wall with a roar. How the hell could his brother have been so _stupid?_ Dean sat down on the bed, coughing, as he thought again about the note.

_Hey Dean. I know you won't like this, but I'm going after the Wendigo on my own. Take it easy, I left the local clinic's number by the bed if you need it. I'll be okay. See you in a couple days._

"Jackass," Dean muttered, running a hand through his hair and scrubbing tiredly at his chin. Even as he started packing his own backpack, Dean realized with a sharp pang just how much this situation seemed like the last time they'd separated…Part of him was really, really betrayed by Sam's choice. Dean shoved the thought to the back of his head. A thought struck him and he quickly pulled out his cell phone, dialling Bobby's number quickly. It went directly to voicemail and Dean took a deep breath.

"Hey Bobby, Dean. My ass of a little brother Sam decided to go hunt this Wendigo down by himself. I'm taking off to follow after him, figure if everything goes to plan I'll meet him on his way back, and if not, I'll save his ass. If you don't hear from one of us in a few days…Maybe you should send in the cavalry. Anyway, we'll be okay, but I figured you would want to know." He hung up, surpried at himself.

Since when did he tell people where he was going? Holy crap, he was getting…responsible. Dean laughed at the thought, grabbed his pack and left the room.

_Of course it's freaking raining,_ he thought to himself as he slid into the Impala. _Fantastic._ It was just starting to get light out, and Dean wondered vaguely where Sam was. With any luck, he would have decided to camp for the night, but Dean thought that rather unlikely. He pulled into the parking lot at the base of the trail, noticing the car sitting there. _Sam hotwired a car!_ Dean thought in surprise. He knew Sam could, but he hadn't really thought he ever _would._ It was still pouring as Dean stepped out of the car, and Dean started coughing almost immediately.

_Damn it!_ He thought angrily, hoping that he wouldn't get any worse. Hardly likely. He started trudging up the trail, his pace slower than he wanted, but still moving. A sense of foreboding overwhelmed him as he continued walking, a feeling of dread for Sam that he couldn't shake. What the hell was going on?

_I'm coming, Sammy. I don't know what's happening, but I'm coming._ Grimly, Dean walked faster.

A/N: So I don't really like this chapter too much, but it was necessary to set up the next one…Oh well.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam woke up in the rather uncomfortable but not unfamiliar position of being tied to a chair. It was dark and he couldn't really see anything. He could vaguely make out the far wall of the room, but other than that he was blind. He tried to move his arms, but whoever had tied him up had done a very efficient job and he couldn't budge the ropes. He grunted in frustration then stopped when a voice startled him.

"So who are you?" A voice asked from the shadows, and Sam looked up in surprise. A man stepped towards him, but his face was obscured by the darkness. A hand reached out and cupped his chin, and Sam instinctively jerked away. The man laughed.

"What the hell is this?" Sam demanded, and the man laughed again.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked. "I find you snooping around my cabin and you ask me what's going on? I think you have it backwards." Sam stared at the outline of the man.

"You killed all those people."

"Very good. You're a smart one." Sam shivered. Why had he gone without Dean? Then again, this guy could have just as easily taken out both of them, and then Dean would be in this situation too.

"You know, normally I would start with the knife, but I can tell that I'm going to have to do something special with you," the man said, and Sam could see the moonlight glinting off his gun. For a second he thought the man was going to shoot him, but then he set it down. Sam was not reassured when he picked up a baseball bat instead.

"Wouldn't want you going anywhere," the man said, and brought the bat smashing into Sam's left knee. Sam screamed, loud and long as the assault continued before finally succumbing to the darkness.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean was sick and tired of the rain. It hadn't let up once in the however many hours he'd been hiking, and every inch of him was soaked through. He shivered lightly, feeling a cough rising, and ran a shaky hand over his forehead. He suspected that he had a temperature, judging by the random flashes of hot and cold he was getting, and the waves of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him every once in a while. He had made it to the campsite in relatively good time, considering how terrible he felt. It hadn't taken him long to realize that Sam had marked his trail, and he was glad for it. Normally he wouldn't need the marks to track his brother, but in his current condition…He wasn't sure he would be able to find him without them.

Stumbling through the undergrowth, Dean was getting even more frustrated with the rain as huge drops fell from the overhanging branches. He let out a barking cough, one bad enough that he had to pause and hunch over, then continued forward. A wave of nausea suddenly passed over him and he retched until he was dry heaving. As it finally ended, Dean wiped his mouth and carefully stood up, hoping that he would find Sam soon. He was starting to realize that it had been stupid to come out by himself, and it was looking like he might need Sam's help just to get back. He shook his head. No. If Sam needed his help, he was going to be able to give it. He lurched forward, stumbling, praying that Sam was okay.

SPNSPNSPN

Sam woke slowly, pain radiating from his leg that gradually spread over his whole body. He groaned in pain, and was rewarded with a cruel laugh from the shadows. Sam instantly went still, clamping his mouth shut to avoid giving the man any satisfaction. Suddenly, he could feel someone touching his head, and he realized with a shudder that the man was smelling his hair.

"Get off me!" He yelled, and the man laughed again.

"Your hair smells nice," the man said, running his fingers through Sam's hair. "It's quite pretty, actually." Sam cringed away from the man, wishing that he had listened to Dean when he had told him he needed a haircut. Too late now.

"So, tell me about yourself," the man said in an eerily conversational tone that made the hair on Sam's neck stand up. Sam didn't answer, and the man held up a knife.

"I said, tell me about yourself." Sam still refused to say anything, so the man sighed and approached him. "Let's start with something easy. What's your name?" When Sam didn't answer, the man dragged the knife across his forearm, watching with satisfaction as blood welled over the cut. Sam winced but remained silent. The man pressed deeper and Sam finally couldn't contain his groan of pain.

"You could make this easy, you know," the man said, looking at Sam expectantly. "What's your name?"

"Jason Harris," Sam muttered, making the name up off the top of his head. The man clicked his tongue.

"Not polite to lie," he said, making another cut on Sam's cheek this time. Sam gasped in pain. The man smiled and made a mark on the other cheek.

"My name is Fred," the man said amiably. "I would appreciate it if you would actually tell me yours." So saying, he made a slow, deep, deliberate cut down Sam's chest, and Sam yelled in agony.

"Sam Winchester," he gasped, and Fred nodded in satisfaction.

"Not so hard, was it Sam?" He looked hard at Sam for a moment, obviously trying to decide something and finally came to a conclusion.

"I think we can have a bit more fun, then we'll be done for now," he said, and drew the knife perpindicular to the cut he'd made down Sam's chest. Sam yelled, and Fred smiled at him.

"One more, I think." He inspected Sam, walking around him, before finally stopping in front of him. He smiled once more and brought the knife down into Sam's left thigh, stabbing almost to the bone. For the second time, Sam threw his head back and screamed.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean was getting tired. His breathing was erratic as his chest felt tight, unable to draw in a deep breath without coughing. His head hurt too, and rational thinking was beginning to be difficult. He had to keep reminding himself what he was doing. Saving Sam. Because at this point, he was pretty sure that was what he was doing. Suddenly, Dean realized that the trail had stopped, and that there was a cabin in front of him. Frowning, Dean pulled his gun and crept forward, as quietly as he could with the harshness of his breathing. He peeked in one of the windows and didn't see anything, but the next window revealed a terrible picture. Sam was sitting limply in a chair, head lolled forward.

"Holy crap, Sam!" Dean whispered, heading quickly to the door. He opened it slowly, having to remind himself that someone might still be in there, then hurried as quickly as he could to his brother's side.

"Hey, Sammy? Sam?" Dean whispered, gently shaking his brother. Sam groaned.

"Stop, please," he murmured, and Dean's heart broke.

"It's me Sammy, it's Dean." Sam's eyes opened and he smiled, then appeared to take in Dean's appearance and frowned.

"You shouldn't be here," he muttered, and Dean shook his head.

"Neither should you. Now hang tight, I'm going to cut these ropes." Sam nodded vaguely, and Dean set to work sawing through the ropes.

"Dean!" Sam yelled suddenly, and Dean whirled, only to be hit with something hard in his ribcage, and as he heard something snap, he could only think that it probably wasn't going to help his breathing much.

SPNSPNSPN

Sam watched in horror as Fred returned and swung the bat at Dean, nailing him in the chest. Dean dropped like a stone.

"No! Dean!" He yelled as Fred stood over his brother with the bat.

"Did you come here to ruin my fun?" Fred bellowed, anger creeping into his voice for the first time since he'd taken Sam. "Won't happen! He has nice hair!" Sam was suddenly furious, this man was not going to kill his brother because he had 'nice hair.' He realized that Dean had managed to just about cut all the way through the ropes, and it didn't take much effort for Sam to get them off. A second later and he had lurched to the table that held both Fred's knife and Sam's gun, and, with trembling hands, fired off three rounds into Fred's back. He nearly lost his balance as Fred fell forward heavily onto Dean, and he ended up practically crawling to his brother's side.

"Dean? Dean, answer me," Sam murmured, shaking his brother's shoulder. Dean groaned, and Sam felt panic as he heard how ragged his brother's breathing was.

"You're hurt," Dean muttered, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah, but you are too," he answered.

"Gotta stop the bleeding, Sammy," Dean gasped, and Sam quickly put pressure on his thigh. He'd forgotten about his wound in the adrenaline rush he'd experienced.

"We've got to get out of here, Dean," Sam said quietly, and Dean groaned.

"I know, but neither of us are really in any shape to walk," he said, and Sam winced. He was right. Dean sat up slowly, gasping and clutching at his ribs, and pulled himself up the wall.

"Come on, Sam," he muttered, holding his hand out. Sam groaned as Dean helped pull him up, and though he was trying not to, he knew he was leaning into Dean pretty heavily. Dean was panting with exertion, but he still managed to maneuver them out the door and into the rain again. They stumblingly started walking back towards the road, both knowing that it would be miraculous if they made it. It was going to be a long walk.

A/N: Thanks again for all the great reviews!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to everyone who left a review. I really appreciate them. *Nudge nudge wink wink*

They were probably a sight to see. Dean was gasping and wheezing and tilted precariously to the right as his incredibly huge brother leaned heavily into him, left leg dragging along the ground. It was just beginning to be dusk; darkness was close.

"This is messed up, Sammy," Dean panted, and Sam nodded. The pain from the knife wound to his leg was getting to be overwhelming; everything below his knee had started going numb. He knew that wasn't a good sign.

"I know, Dean," Sam mumbled, wincing in pain as his leg was jarred. "I'm sorry I left you." Dean laughed, but it deteriorated into a cough pretty quickly.

"Getting-used to it-Sam," he gasped, and Sam winced again, this time from guilt. "Don't-worry-'bout it." They stumbled along in silence some more, Sam beginning to grow light-headed, he assumed from blood loss. He could hear Dean's ragged breathing and felt both immense guilt and immense worry. With a pang, he realized that Dean had been sick earlier, had walked in the rain for who-knew-how-long, and had taken a direct hit to the ribs. Holy crap.

"How long were you out here, Dean?" He asked, wondering how long it would take his older brother to answer him directly.

"Not too-long," Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes. He knew Dean wouldn't tell him.

"Dean. How long?" Dean cleared his throat and coughed before answering.

"I don't know. Day or two." Sam groaned.

"A day or two? Damn it," he muttered. Dean growled.

"Come on, Sam. Saved your ass," he said, and Sam nodded.

"I know. I'm just worried about you."

"Well, don't be. I'm-fine." He sounded terrible, congested and hoarse and wheezing. Sam was seriously concerned that if they didn't get out of this rain soon...And with Dean more prone to infections...

"That guy was-all kinds-of messed up-huh, Sam?" Dean said suddenly, and Sam shook his head to clear it. He couldn't let himself think like that.

"Yeah. Liked my hair." Dean snorted then coughed when Sam said that.

"It's awful-pretty," he muttered, and Sam glared at him, though Dean wasn't looking at him, concentrating instead on every step he was taking.

"My hair is pretty, Dean," Sam defended, swallowing as a wave of nausea washed over him. He groaned.

"You okay?" Dean asked, panted more like, and Sam nodded.

"I'm good." Dean didn't seem convinced; Sam could see him looking at him sideways when he looked up from the ground. They continued stumbling in silence, Dean's breathing horribly loud in the stillness of the forest. Darkness was gathering around them, and though it usually didn't bother him, Sam found himself uncomfortable and wishing for light. He shuddered as he remembered the man smelling his hair...

"You okay?" Dean asked again. Sam sighed.

"Yes." He wasn't, of course. He was leaning so heavily into Dean he was surprised his older brother didn't fall over, and Dean's shuffling steps were so minute it seemed that they weren't moving anymore.

"You?" There was a slight pause, then,

"Fine." Sam nearly laughed. They were both so stubborn, here they were, on the brink of collapse, neither willing to admit weakness-Dean went down suddenly, hard, and Sam was taken completely by surprise. He gasped as he lurched sideways, falling directly onto his brother though he tried to twist out of the way, wincing as he felt his elbow come down on something that cracked and gave way, heard Dean's scream...Oh shit... He'd just sent his elbow into Dean's already battered ribcage, and from the sounds of things, he'd just busted some. He struggled to roll off of his brother without putting even more pressure on him, wanted to scream when he heard Dean's gasps for breath.

"Dean? Damn it, Dean!" Sam cried. Sounded like he'd punctured a lung. He'd punctured his own brother's lung.

"Not-your-fault," he panted, but Sam knew it was, how was it not? He dragged himself to Dean's side, the darkness now completely overwhelming, made worse by the overhanging trees. Blindly, he felt for Dean's face, surprised to find his brother's cheeks wet with tears.

"Dean," he moaned, uncertain of what he should do, knowing that he really couldn't do anything. His brother was going to suffocate in front of him.

"S'my," Dean groaned, weakly swatting Sam's hand away. "Pressure." Sam knew what he meant. He was telling Sam to keep pressure on his wound. When he was lying on the ground with one working lung and even that one not doing so well. Sam felt tears streaming down his own cheeks, but he obediently pressed both hands to his leg. The wounds on his chest had long since stopped bleeding, so he didn't even give them a second thought.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," he murmured quietly. "I didn't mean to mess everything up. I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," Dean said weakly. Sam smiled in spite of himself. "Called Bobby." Sam's jaw dropped. It wasn't really like Dean to actually think ahead, or to admit that they might actually need help. Sam was impressed.

"You called Bobby?"

"Mm-hmm." Dean's voice was getting weaker, and Sam was getting more worried. They were both going into shock, he was shivering and could hear Dean's teeth chattering from where he was laying, but he was unable to do anything, his injuries taking their toll as he felt himself growing more and more tired.

"S'm?" Dean murmured, and it took all of Sam's strength to muster a faint grunt in reply. "Promised. Can't-handle-this." Sam would have laughed if he could have, but he felt the sleepiness that had been threatening to overpower him finally succeed and then everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thanks for all the great reviews! They're awesome!

Sam was slightly roused by a flash of light through the trees and the sound of someone approaching. He swore lightly under his breath, aware that Dean was still unconscious beside him, groping in the dark for the gun he knew Dean had to have on him. Finding it, he grasped it firmly, though his hands were shaking and his head was swimming, aiming it at the bobbing light.

"Don't come any further!" He barked, but his voice was unsteady, his grip on the gun wavering. The light stopped moving, and a familiar voice called out.

"Agent Johnson? Is that you?" Sam blinked in the darkness, breathing heavily, trying to place the voice. It wasn't long before he realized that it was Sheriff McAllister.

"Yeah," he managed to get out, panting heavily. He groped around again, trying to feel Dean's face. It was startlingly warm when he touched it, something wet coating Sam's fingers. Sweat? Blood? Dean's breathing was painful and labored, and Sam realized he had no idea how long he'd been out.

"Your senior agent called, said you might be in trouble. I knew you didn't seem like Forest Service, you're Feds..." the sheriff's voice trailed off as the beam of his light caught the Winchesters' prone forms. "What in holy hell did you two do?" He asked incredulously, jaw dropped. Sam shrugged.

his

"Serial killer," he muttered, wanting to add some choice curse words but not really having the strength. The sheriff approached them, his face unreadable as he knelt next to Sam.

"You boys look messed up as hell," he muttered, surprisingly gentle hands searching Sam's leg and chest for injuries, flashlight held between his teeth. He let out a low whistle as he caught sight of Dean.

"Your partner looks mighty bad," he said, casting a sympathetic look at Sam.

"He's going to be fine," Sam ground out through clenched teeth. "But we've gotta get out of here." McAllister nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought. He produced a walkie-talkie out of his backpack and quickly spoke into it.

"Joe? Yeah, I found 'em. They're awful beat up. I'll send you the GPS coordinates, you come with the medical team pronto. Yeah, a chopper would prob'ly be good too. Yeah. Said it was a serial killer. I know. Okay. Thanks." Sam only half-listened to the conversation, focusing most of his attention on his brother, who was struggling too much for each breath to make Sam feel at all comfortable.

"Hey Dean," Sam whispered, running a blood-covered hand through his brother's short hair. Dean's breath was hitching and awkward, and Sam could hear the rattle in his chest with each labored inhale. The combination of running emotions and blood loss was beginning to overwhelm Sam as he felt tears streaming down his face. "Please be okay, Dean," he murmured, his tongue feeling thick and hard to speak around. It took him a second to realize that the sheriff was next to him, carefully bandaging the wound in his leg and speaking softly to him.

"You're gonna be okay, son," he muttered. "Your senior agent's on his way and we've got a medical team coming, you're gonna be okay." He shifted to look at Dean, lightly putting an ear to Dean's chest. He grimaced, and Sam hazily thought that it wasn't a good face to see. The sheriff muttered something under his breath, and Sam couldn't catch what he said. Damn, his head hurt. He just wanted Dean to wake up, wanted to hear him say something reassuring or sarcastic or darkly funny, or just his name. Even that would be better than the silence, the wheezing breaths that seemed to require a Herculean effort every time. Suddenly, Sam realized that if Dean stopped breathing out here before the medics came... He shook his head, trying to clear it of thoughts like that. Dean would be fine, just like always, he'd be okay.

"Sam? Dean? You boys here?" It was Bobby's voice, gruff and thick with worry, and Sam again felt the urge to cry. Then he could feel the familiar presence of the hunter next to him, light shining on his face. The grizzled man was actually wearing a suit. Sam chuckled, then winced as it turned into a cough. Bobby looked him over, shaking his head. "You really did a number on yourself, Agent Johnson. How's Young doing?" It took Sam a second to realize that Dean was Young, then he shook his head.

"Bad, sir," he muttered. "'s sick, and he got hit in the ribs, and...and I fell on 'im." Sam felt the guilt rise in his throat like bile and turned his head as he felt the nausea overwhelm him. He threw up the meager contents of his stomach until he was dry heaving. Bobby was patting his back, and now Sam was facing Dean, the pale face all too clear.

"I'm gonna go wait for the rescue team, lead 'em here," McAllister said, and Bobby nodded.

"Dean?" Sam rasped, reaching a hand out to touch his brother's face. He was worried about the heat pulsing off his brother's forehead, not sure what to do. When the green eyes cracked open, they startled Sam.

"S'm," he murmured, gasping the word out painfully. The moonlight glinted off his eyes, frighteningly unfocused. Dean was struggling to breathe, struggling to understand what was going on, eyes rolling in panic. "S'm?"

"I'm here, 's okay, you're gonna be okay," Sam whispered, and Dean nodded, gulping painfully for air. Sam winced at the gurgling noise each labored inhalation made.

"Hey there, Dean," Bobby said from behind Sam, shifting his position so that he was near Dean's head. He placed a calloused hand to Dean's forehead, let it sit there, as Dean shivered beneath him. "You're burnin' up, boy." The emotion that was thick in Bobby's voice did nothing to ease Sam's fears. Bobby was scared.

"S'm," Dean moaned again, tried to move to Sam's side.

"He's okay," Bobby comforted quietly. "You just focus on getting enough air, okay? Take it easy, Winchester." Dean fell still under Bobby's hands, finally giving in to the exhaustion and fever. Sam stiffened as he saw Dean go limp, opened his mouth to shout, stopped when Bobby shook his head at him.

"He's alright, Sam. He needs the rest, for now. Taking care of you Winchesters..." Bobby's voice trailed off as he contemplated the stubborn natures of the men who had grown to be like sons to him. Neither of them could just look after their own injuries, they were so caught up on the other…Bobby couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips. That was one of the reasons he loved them so much. A sudden change in Dean's breathing had Bobby frowning as he realized that the older Winchester was shutting down.

"No, no, no," he muttered as he bent next to Dean's face, the hitching breaths slowing and becoming even more sporadic. "Don't you do this to me, Winchester." He could hear Sam moving behind him and wanted to say something to reassure him, but all his attention was on Dean.

"Dean, come on, son, damn it!" Bobby yelled as Dean's labored breaths stopped altogether. Sam was shouting something, yelling in pain and terror as Bobby tilted Dean's head back and blew two breaths against his blue tinged lips. A wave of fear washed over him as he checked Dean's pulse and found it to be weak and thready, still not taking in any air. Sam's keening continued as Bobby tried to block it out and focus on getting oxygen into Dean's lungs. He could hear Sam's cries fading to a low moan, unending and uninterrupted as Bobby continued to breathe for his brother. Bobby again felt for a pulse, was horrified when he couldn't find one, and began chest compressions. Sam was screaming.

"No! No! Dean, no!" His cries were breaking Bobby's heart even as he struggled to pump Dean's, and he prayed that the medical team would get there soon. Because if Dean didn't make it…Sam wouldn't either.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry this took a super long time to get out...

SPNSPNSPN

Bobby didn't look up as he heard McAllister come crashing through the trees, but between giving breaths and continuing to press on Dean's chest, he could hear the sharp intake of the sheriff's breath as Sam continued to keen loudly.

"Med team should be here in two," he muttered, then there was the sound of movement and Sam fell silent, his wails reduced to pathetic whimpers that would have cut Bobby to the core if he had been able to listen.

"Hey son, take it easy," the man murmured, and Bobby wondered vaguely how long, exactly, Dean had been down, his still chest moving only when Bobby breathed for him, his lips blue in the moonlight, the heartbeat startlingly absent... The med team was at his side suddenly, and Bobby was relieved to move aside and let them work, but reluctant to lose contact with Dean, he left his hand resting softly on Dean's still fingers. A paramedic had taken over the CPR from Bobby, another steadily squeezing a bag over his mouth. Bobby rubbed a tired hand over his face as they hooked him up to a portable defibrillator. With a clench of his jaw, he realized that the AED was analyzing Dean's rhythm, deciding whether to deliver a shock or not, and Bobby found himself thinking that this was it, if there was anything there at all...The electronic device indicated in a robotic tone that it was delivering a shock, and Bobby wanted to cry. Probably in v-tach, then. He felt a small bit of relief despite the fact that Dean still technically didn't have a heartbeat, but at least there was enough there to register a shock. That was good. With a pang, he turned away as Dean was shocked, faced Sam, whose face had drained of all color and emotion and who was just staring blankly at Dean from where he was lying on a stretcher. A paramedic was snapping his fingers in front of him as another started an IV. He heard one of the paramedics say something about having sinus rhythm and ran a shaky hand through his hair as he nearly cried with relief. Sam's eyes finally shifted and met his, begging for confirmation. Sam had been paying attention, then, just entirely focused on Dean. Bobby risked a look at Dean, watched as the paramedic continued to squeeze the bag over his mouth and nose, but Bobby could see that they weren't quite as frantic in their movements and were carefully shifting him onto a stretcher.

"He's still with us, Sammy," he murmured quietly, reaching a tentative hand to Sam's cheek. Sam nodded, tears forming in his eyes as the stretcher he was on was gently lifted by the medics. He grunted with pain, and Bobby winced sympathetically, looked back to Dean. They were picking him up too, and Bobby suddenly wasn't sure what to do with himself.

"Sir?" A paramedic was talking to him, and Bobby dutifully turned to face him. "Sir, we're carrying your agents to a clearing about half a mile from here. We'll likely need your help to keep them from being jostled too much, what with the undergrowth and all." Bobby nodded absently, trailing after the people bearing his friends-hell, practically his sons- away. He realized then that there were about a half-dozen police officers along with the medics that had come, and that they had all come to look for Dean and Sam.

"Who are you guys? Really?" It was McAllister, and his voice was soft and questioning, not accusing. It surprised Bobby. He wasn't sure how to answer, finally shrugged.

"They're brothers. I'm...I'm a friend," he replied vaguely. McAllister nodded thoughtfully, as if he hadn't really expected a more clear answer and certainly wasn't expecting to get anything more through questioning.

"I don't know who you are," the sheriff said finally, casting a weary gaze over the motionless bodies being so carefully moved through the woods, "but y'all are welcome here. Anytime. Your boys took out the son of a bitch that's been killing all these people...They're good men." Bobby was surprised at the sudden tears he felt rising, realized again just how much he relied on those dumb, stubborn-ass Winchesters and just how worried he was.

"Yeah, I know," he answered gruffly then hurried forward to help keep a clear path for the med team.

SPNSPNSPN

Sam wasn't sure what was going on. His leg was hurting like hell, tendrils of flame seeming to spread up from it, and the other injuries he'd forgotten about were making themselves known. He was being moved, trees moving over his head, a glimpse of an occasional star. People were talking around him, some were asking questions that he eventually realized were directed at him but that he chose to ignore. He vaguely knew that something was missing or wrong, somehow, but he couldn't think beyond the fog that was clouding his mind. Everything seemed hazy and distant, even the pain, and he could hear the tone in the voice of some of the men shift to something more urgent, scared even. Then a familiar face swam in front of him, a face it took him a moment to label.

"B'bby?" He muttered finally, wondering when the man had shown up, and just where were they anyway? He stirred restlessly, nearly cried out from the pain it ignited all over his body, and Bobby put a restraining hand against him.

"Hey there, kiddo," Bobby's rough voice soothed, and Sam wasn't even aware when he nuzzled up against the calloused hand. "You gotta stay with me, okay? Just stay awake." Sam understood what was being asked of him and he nodded, gasping when his head started to pound. Damn, he couldn't do anything, couldn't even move his head. Dean would laugh at him- _Dean. _This time, no amount of pain could keep Sam Winchester down as he struggled up, despair and panic pulsing through his veins with enough force to help him in his quest to sit upright.

"Sam!" Bobby's voice barked, but Sam paid no attention, looked frantically around, realized that the trees weren't moving anymore and that he was sitting on a stretcher and that Dean had been _dead_ that last time he'd seen him, had been dead like before, _holy shit_. Suddenly everything seemed claustrophobic and the hands that were trying to restrain him were scary and foreign and _where the hell was he?_

"Dean!" Sam screamed, raw and full of agony, the sound ripping from his throat and seeming to echo in the darkness around him. "Dean!" He repeated, the shock and horror of everything that had happened in the past few days becoming too much to handle.

"He's alive, Sam!" Bobby cried as one of the medics started prepping a sedative, the other trying in vain to get him to relax. "You have to calm down! He's alive! We're getting both of you out of here, you hear me? Calm down, Sam!" The other stretcher suddenly pulled up parallel to his, and Sam fell still as he saw Dean's motionless form.

"'s alive?" He whispered finally, red-rimmed eyes looking directly into Bobby's. Suddenly he was tired, the adrenaline leaving swiftly, completely gone as quickly as it had come and he was so tired...

"Yeah, son, he's still with us. But we've gotta get you out of here, so you need to lie down and stay down, got it?" Bobby's tone hardened as he spoke, and Sam nodded obediently, letting his head fall back. The medics exchanged grateful glances with Bobby as they again lifted Sam's stretcher.

"Almost there, kid," Bobby muttered, brushing a stray piece of hair out of Sam's eyes. Sam felt his eyelids growing heavy. "Sam? Stay awake son, come on." Sam tried, he really did, but there was just no way he was going to be able to keep his eyes open, so he finally stopped fighting against it and allowed himself to drift into an uneasy blackness.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean Winchester was completely unaware of the helicopter ride he was forced to endure, which was a blessing in that he hated heights and would have been acutely uncomfortable had he been conscious, and a curse, in that he was unaware because he was hovering on the brink of death.

Sam Winchester had an entirely different experience, one that faded and flickered in and out and that was far scarier than Dean's. Images and sounds filtered through his consciousness, all of them scary and unfamiliar. People were touching his leg and chest, putting something over his face, poking things into his arm. The only constant, the one, terrifying thing that never changed, was that Dean remained motionless and still.

Bobby Singer's experience was infinitely worse than either of the Winchesters. He had the unfortunate luck of being completely conscious the entire trip over, from the moment they got into the helicopter. It was one of the absolute worst experiences of his entire life.

"Okay, let's get Dean in first," a medic, Jeff, said, directing them where to put Dean's stretcher, then reaching down to help pull Sam's in. There were three medics and the pilot, and at first Bobby wasn't sure he'd be allowed to go, but they waved him in and sat him next to Sam's still unconscious form, wanting him there should the youngest Winchester wake.

Bobby watched as Sam's leg was wrapped with a pressure bandage, a saline drip inserted into his arm. The medic then started cleaning up the cuts on his chest and face, gently but thoroughly scrubbing them out. Dean had two medics working on him, one still squeezing the bag over his mouth and nose, as the other listened to his chest with a stethoscope. Singer didn't miss the look Jeff gave his partner, or the words he muttered.

"I've got crackles in his right lung, no breath sounds at all in his left, probably punctured." Jeff continued inspecting Dean, running his hand over his chest and belly, listening with the stethoscope again. "Abdomen's swelling, pulse erratic. Heart's going into palpitations." The medics shared a look.

"You thinking a rib punctured the pericardium?"

"Yeah. Kid's in cardiac tamponade. You add that to the pneumonia…"

"He's in some serious shit." The other medic nodded, looking to the monitors above Dean's head. "We gotta get there _fast_."

Bobby drew a suddenly shaking hand over his forehead, forcing himself to take a calming breath before turning back to the medic dealing with Sam.

"This kid's gonna need some surgery, repair the vascular damage in the left thigh, and his knee is pretty screwed up," he said, and Bobby had to close his eyes to keep himself from yelling in frustration. Couldn't the Winchesters, just once, catch a damn break? As if on cue, Sam stirred, groaning, and Bobby quickly grabbed one of his hands as he started to panic, gasping for breath.

"Hey son, hey, you're okay, we're on the way to the hospital," Bobby whispered as an oxygen mask was slipped over Sam's face.

"Dean?" It was a whispered plea, a beg for Bobby's reassurance.

"He's hanging on," Bobby answered, looking Sam in the eye. "He's hanging on. You do the same, okay?" Sam nodded, gulping down air, turning away from the older man to see Dean.

"Dean," Sam whispered, then struggled to raise his voice. "Dean, hang on, you jerk." Bobby chuckled lightly, watching as Sam looked at Dean half-expectantly, hoping for the familiar retort. His face fell slightly when there was no answer. Bobby gripped his hand reassuringly.

"Pulse is dropping," the medic squeezing the bag said, and the other cursed as he injected something into Dean's IV.

"V-fib." The medic put the bag aside and started compressions on Dean's still chest as the other medic moved to the side.

"Okay, I'm going to give him some epi then try the paddles," the medic announced as his partner continued CPR and nodded.

"Dean, damn it," Sam said even more loudly, nearly shouting, struggling to sit upright. The medic was trying to hold him down, looked to Bobby for assistance. Bobby helped hold him down as he screamed.

"Dean! Not like this, you bastard!" Bobby gripped him by the shoulders, watching with tears in his eyes as Dean was shocked and Sam screamed again as there was no change.

"Why the hell is this happening?" He yelled, and Bobby gripped him more forcefully, lip trembling. "Why Dean? Hasn't he been through enough shit? Haven't both of us?" One arm escaped Bobby's grip and flew toward the medic's face, narrowly missing clipping his jaw.

"Sam! Stop it! You're just hurting yourself more, Sam!" Bobby shouted, but Sam continued to yell, struggling against the men restraining him.

"Bobby! You gotta help him! Bobby, _please!_" Bobby felt the tears that had come to his eyes spill over as he held Sam's shuddering body.

"I can't, Sam, I can't," he whispered into the thick hair, unable to stop the tears that came as Sam stopped screaming and lay there weakly, sobs coursing through his body, breaths coming in heaving wheezes. Bobby looked up blearily and noticed that Dean was still hanging on, barely, watched with relief as the erratic mountains continued to march across the monitor. Sam went limp beneath his hands, pain and fear and exhaustion and blood loss taking their toll.

Bobby stroked the dark hair, wondered at how these two boys had become like his sons, wondered at how he had let it come to this.

"I'm sorry, John," he whispered, still running a hand through Sam's hair, "I'm sorry, Johnny."

xxxx

When they reached the hospital, Sam and Dean were whisked away before Bobby even recognized where they were. He was sent to the waiting room and told to fill out paperwork.

He filled it out numbly, then sat, head in hands, and waited for news.

xxxx

A/N: Sorry for the super long wait, guys, life has been crazy! I'm in college now…


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